


Trust Is A Sanctuary So Few Behold

by Bennyhatter



Series: Anisapiens [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animalistic, Blood, Enemies to Friends, Feral Behavior, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Redemption, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Shiro has been fighting in the pits for as long as he can remember. It's the only life he knows anymore. He's an Alpha Fighter, Zarkon's prized Champion. His only purpose is to destroy every Anisapien they put in his path.At least, until Allura finds him, and makes it her goal to rehabilitate the lion Anisapien -- no matter what anyone else suggests.





	Trust Is A Sanctuary So Few Behold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wrecked_anon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrecked_anon/gifts).



> So, uh, y'all can thank wrecked_anon for this. They mentioned wanting to see things from Shiro's perspective, like Allura rescuing him and his lengthy recovery time and whatnot, and my brain went OKAY.
> 
> So, you can consider this a kind-of prequel to Slice Of Heaven, I guess?
> 
> This is basically a bunch of "snapshots" of Shiro's rehabilitation. If you would like me to expand on a few, or there's something else you'd like to see... That can possibly be arranged.
> 
> For now... ENJOY.

He's buried to the wrist in his latest victim's stomach, fangs buried in the torn remains of the grizzly Fighter's neck, when everything outside of the pit turns chaotic. He hunches defensively over his kill, snarling when the heavy metal trapdoor starts to slide open. Usually the Handlers won't come for the body until he prowls away from it. Zarkon has lost more than a handful of men and women who thought they could bully or intimidate him away once the fight was finished.

He's never been punished for it; in fact, Zarkon feeds him well those nights, pleased by his prized Champion's ferocity.

It's not Handlers that enter the pit this time though. These humans wear a different kind of uniform. Their scents are sharp, mingling with the metal-and-burn stench of guns. Their faces are all set in blank, identical masks as they circle him. He snarls again, teeth sunken so deeply into the dead Fighter's neck that he feels vertebrae crack beneath the pressure of his jaws.

One of them steps closer -- a woman with caramel skin and silver-white hair. She's looking at him with contemplative blue eyes, thin arms crossed over her chest. His nostrils flare, picking her scent from among the rest. She smells flowery and sweet, but  _ dangerous. _ Not because of the gun that hangs at her hip, though. This is a different kind of power. Almost, but not quite, the same as his own. This woman is an Alpha amongst her people.

That makes her a threat.

He tears himself free of the grizzly's carcass, roaring in challenge. Gold eyes meet blue, the air thick with anticipation. They're only  _ humans. _ Weak and fangless. No claws to protect them, only bullets, and they'd have to be faster than he is.

He waits, crouched and coiled, muscles taut and tail lashing. His claws dig into the gravel, tearing furrows that future fights will smooth out in time. The terrain of the pit changes constantly despite the walls never moving. The only thing that doesn't change is that the bodies are dragged out once he's made his point.

How well will Zarkon feed him tonight, for killing this pitiful little pack, he wonders?

"S41R0141," the woman says calmly, and his ears perk. She knows his Identification Number. Does she work for Zarkon? He's never seen uniforms like these. Regardless, they're too close for comfort, edging in around him like he can't tell that they're creeping closer little by little. He hisses, dropping his head and baring his fangs.

"We're not here to hurt you," she says, her voice low and gentle. She offers her hands, palm up and vulnerable. He snarls, dipping a little lower and tracking her pridemates in his periphery.

"It's alright." She's trying to coax him, her heartbeat steady and her eyes wide. She takes a small step closer, smelling like sugar-sweet hope and ripe nativity.

He kills four of her people before two stinging bites against his side send him crashing to the ground. He's been shocked before, as part of Zarkon's training, but never like this. The pain is excruciating, his muscles seizing and spasming so hard that his throat closes around the yowls trying to claw free.

"Stop!"

It stops, the aftershocks twitching through him. His body won't respond -- he's sprawled out on his side,  _ too open too vulnerable  _ **_get up_ ** \--

He tries to lunge, but the next wave sends him crashing straight back down. It's over in a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. He gasps for breath, his chest heaving. His fur is clumped with sweat, his eyes struggling to focus, but he recognizes  _ her _ when she kneels beside him. Her hands are calloused but gentle, stroking across his bare shoulder. She's making quiet crooning sounds, like a lioness trying to calm a cub.

His snarl is weak, but still threatening. "I know," she says, one of her hands leaving his side. "I know. It's going to be alright, I promise."

There's a pinch of pain at his neck, like the prick of a claw -- it's nowhere near as bad as the electrical currents. He growls, low and confused, and she shushes him; pets along his side rhythmically until darkness clouds his sight and drags him down.

\--

"You can't keep doing this. Even an Anisapien's body isn't made to withstand this kind of prolonged exposure to sedation-"

"I will  _ not _ give up on him."

Allura's voice is what rouses him. His eyes slit open, dark gray and groggy. The bed he's curled up on is so soft, the blankets keeping him warm where he doesn't have fur. He can hear the argument, Allura's voice cutting and angry. The scientist -- Matthew? -- is just as heated, their voices loud enough to carry down the hallway. He snarls, furious at being drugged again, at being  _ caged _ , and they fall silent.

Dragging himself out of his nest, he forces himself to his feet and paces. He's still sluggish, nausea making his stomach cramp; weakness leaves his limbs trembling, but he refuses to lose to this invisible, formless challenger. He roars, making sure they can all hear his displeasure, and throws himself at the reinforced glass front of his prison.

"Shiro, please, don't!"

Allura is there, pressing her hands against the glass. He lunges at her, claws screeching uselessly against the smooth surface. His ears pin back and he roars in her face, slamming his fist against the glass.

"I know, I know," she says over and over again, petting the clear wall like that will help calm him down. "Shiro," she pleads, a nickname he doesn't understand the purpose of and  _ hates. _ Matthew comes to stand behind her, several feet back from the glass. He looks appropriately fearful. He wants to tear the pitiful human apart just as much as he wants to rip Allura's throat out.

"Allura, this isn't working," Matthew whispers. His ears flick, his tail lashing as agitation and rage burn beneath his skin. "It's been almost three months, and he hasn't improved at all. He was in there  _ too long." _

"I'm  _ not _ giving up on him," Allura growls, and that makes him pause. He tilts his head, growling back, his eyes narrowed. She chirps, a curious sound -- a  _ lioness' _ sound. A cub-come searching chirp.

He slams against the glass again, yowling and hissing --  _ furious _ at her arrogance, his fingers aching from how violently he's clawing to get at her, to spray her blood across the walls and taste her death on his tongue. Such  _ weak _ prey, frail and fragile.

"Allura!" Matthew shouts, stumbling back until he hits the wall, pale-faced and no-doubt reeking of fear. He's shaking and  _ scared, _ just like he should be.

Allura looks sad, but determined.

"One more time, Matthew. We'll move him tonight. I won't trouble the Garrison anymore."

When the familiar, hated gas fills the room, he roars. He can't escape it, he knows he can't, but he lunges at the glass anyway, as hard as he can.

A hairline fracture spiderwebs out from where his fist lands, but he's already sliding to the ground as the darkness overtakes him.

\--

"Good morning, Shiro."

He looks up, growling quietly. Allura sighs, but she's smiling, sitting outside of his enclosure with a book on her lap. He eyes it, ears flicking forward curiously. She holds up the thick, hard-backed novel when she notices, her next smile a little brighter.

"Would you like me to read to you again?"

He slides off his sunning rock and prowls toward the bars, his head low and his lips curling back to show his teeth. She's too far away for him to reach through the bars, and everything in his enclosure is bolted down and reinforced. He presses up against them, glaring at her, and her scent turns bitter-coffee sad despite her smile never faltering.

"It's Robin Hood again," she cajoles, opening to the bookmarked page. "You seemed to enjoy it so much last time, I thought we'd keep going."

He stalks away as she begins to read, doing his best to ignore her, but one ear keeps twitching in her direction. When she smiles knowingly, never faltering, he stalks into his cave. He can't see her anymore, but he can still hear her, so he curls up at the back, hidden in the shadows, and growls quietly to himself as he listens.

\--

"How long have I been here?"

Allura looks up, startled. She obviously hadn't heard him approach.

"We rescued you from the pits almost sixteen months ago," she replies quietly.

He nods, leaning against a fake tree. The bark feels incredibly real against his fur, but there's no natural scents in this place.

"Why?" he asks, and it's not the first time, so he doesn't bother elaborating.

Allura tucks a braid behind her ear. "Everyone deserves a chance at redemption," she says. "What you were forced to do doesn't define who you are."

"I am an Alpha Fighter," he growls, holding up his right hand. The light makes his black fur look glossy and sleek; he retracts his claws and flexes them back out, looking at her pointedly. "It is my nature."

"We are more than just our purpose." Allura leans back against the wall, looking tired and pale, her skin almost ashy. He frowns, breathing in deeply. Exhaustion clings to her like a physical presence. "If things never changed, I would have been married off to an eligible man of my father's choosing when I was thirteen, and I'd probably have four children by now. Possibly five, depending on my husband's insistence."

That… That sounds… He frowns. "Females maul unsuitable mates," he says. "Or they kill them. Or they simply do not bare, if they are not compatible."

"Human law is not the same as animal law, though I wish it were sometimes." She chuckles, shaking her head. "My point was to say that our purpose should not define who we are. You are just as free to choose your own path as I am, no matter what was decided for you when you were whelped."

Her words sink in slowly, clashing with everything he's ever known until his temples throb. "It is not so easily done," he rumbles, pushing away from his tree. "Not everyone is given that freedom." He looks pointedly at the bars keeping him contained.

"When they are not necessary, they will leave," Allura replies easily. "You haven't tried to kill me in a while," she adds playfully, giving him a teasing smile. He chuffs, baring his teeth, and tries to ignore her laughter as he stalks away.

Its much harder to forget her words, even with the memories stained across his skin and fur. He remembers, every time he looks at his right hand -- the dark pads and too-long fingers, all covered in black fur that still remembers being stiff and clumped by blood.

Clenching his hand, he snarls and punches another fake tree, watching the trunk splinter and snap before it crashes down across his sunning rock.

It sounds like bones breaking; a violence he can never unmake.

\--

One day, while Allura is laughing at him for rolling off of his sunning rock, he presses against the bars and growls at her. It's an empty threat and they both know it, his claws retracted and his teeth covered to prove that he's not seriously angry.

"I'm sorry," she says between bursts of laughter, "but your  _ face. _ Oh, it was priceless."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, his lips twitching. Smiling is still unfamiliar to him, but it's getting easier now.

"Oh, your bangs." Allura reaches toward him without hesitation, brushing bits of fake moss out of his white scar-tuft. He freezes, unsure of how to react, but she just smiles at him. Her thumb is warm against his temple, rubbing in slow, relaxing circles.

"It doesn't always have to be scary," she says quietly, and he nods, slow and uncertain. After a few minutes, she scratches his head gently, and he's knocked off-balance by how  _ nice _ it feels.

"Shiro?" Her voice is soft; she smells like raspberries.

"Yeah?" he asks, barely loud enough to be heard.

Allura's eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles.

"Thank you."

Shiro smiles, purring for the first time in longer than he can remember.

"Yeah."

\--

Allura chirps, high and sharp. Shiro uncurls himself with a yawn and pads out of his cave to meet her, licking across the back of his hand and dragging it over his face.

"I'm up, I'm up," he grumbles.

"Shiro."

Allura isn't in her normal spot. She's standing by the door, smiling widely. She smells like flowers and peppermint and raspberries, and her happiness is infectious enough that he smiles as he lopes toward her.

"What's got you so cheerful?" he asks, and then he stumbles, shocked, when the door slides open. Shiro freezes, looking between her and that rectangle of empty space, his ears quivering.

"What…?" He doesn't know how to finish that sentence, or what he even wants to stay. He stands, muscles coiled, while Allura waits patiently. Her hands are clasped in front of her, her blue eyes patient and warm.

"Twenty-seven months, Shiro," she says gently. He blinks at her, uncomprehending. "It's been twenty-seven months since I rescued you from the pit. I'd argue it's been a lot longer than that since you've actually felt grass beneath your feet."

Shiro looks at the open doorway, that tantalizing promise of freedom, and feels fear curl like cold tendrils through his chest.

"I…"

"Change is terrifying," she says, her understanding a warm balm against his prickling skin. "Freedom is terrifying, to those who've never known it. They long for it, but once they finally have it? It's a very big step. One you must take at your own pace. No one else can do this for you. It has to be your choice."

He moves slowly, creeping forward until he's standing in front of the doorway. Allura waits on the other side, a presence he's come to find reassuring. She's become something a friend, someone he never expected to happen the day he met her.

He'd figured one or both of them would be dead by now, and the thought makes his chest ache sharply. He rubs the phantom pain away, feeling the bumps and ridges of scars beneath his human palm.

On his side of the bars, he's standing on artificial moss and grass. Around him, his enclosure looks like it was brought straight from a forest, despite everything being artificial.

Allura is standing on pale green tiles, with cream-colored walls around her. It's a small observation hallway, one that spans the length of his territory, with doors on either end that lead to places Shiro has never seen.

"What will it mean for me?" he asks, looking at Allura.

She smiles. "You'll prove to others that rehabilitation  _ can _ work, with the right time and environment. You've shown  _ me _ that this is something I want to keep doing. I want to save Anisapiens like you. I want them to have just as much of a chance as anyone else gets. I want to do  _ good _ in this world, Shiro, and I would like you to help me. You are not obligated to, in any way. But people need to know that it  _ can _ be done."

She chirps, quiet and sweet, and Shiro rumbles in reply. His tail flicks behind him, his ears flattened anxiously against his hair. What Allura wants is… immense. It has the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong, but…

If not for her, Shiro would have died in that pit. Either at the hands of another Anisapien, or the hands of one of her soldiers. She saw something in him that day, something she thought was worth saving. And she wants to go find it in others like him.

She wants  _ him _ to help her save them. Anisapien that he once would have killed, simply because they were pushed in front of him.

But he's not that creature anymore, and he has Allura to thank for that.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Shiro steps out onto the tiles.


End file.
